Three days.
Three endless, agonizing days.
Aya sat beneath the ancient oak tree just beyond the village's edge, her small frame dwarfed by the massive trunk. The thick roots curled through the earth like grasping fingers, but she barely noticed. Every morning, without fail, she came here—waiting, watching, her eyes fixed on the winding road that stretched toward the horizon.
She did not fidget. She did not pace.
She simply waited.
The tattered scrap of Nine's cloak lay in her lap, the fabric coarse beneath her trembling fingers. She had held onto it since the moment he left, clutching it in her sleep, pressing it against her chest like a talisman that could bridge the chasm of time and distance.
A faint breeze stirred, rustling her unkempt hair, whispering against the hollow ache in her chest.
Colla stood nearby, arms crossed, watching. The girl's unwavering stillness unsettled her. It wasn't natural for someone so young to sit in such quiet torment, frozen between hope and despair.
With a sigh, Colla finally gave in and walked over, dropping onto the grass beside her.
"You really care about him, huh?" Her voice was light, an attempt at casual conversation, but there was an undercurrent of something softer—an understanding that neither of them dared acknowledge aloud.
Aya didn't move. "He'll come back."
It wasn't a plea.
It wasn't blind hope.
It was a belief so absolute that it felt like an unbreakable vow.
Colla exhaled, tilting her head back against the bark. "You're sure? He's not exactly the type to follow rules. And these battles… they change people, Aya."
Aya's grip on the fabric tightened. "I believe in him."
Colla studied her carefully, watching the way her hands clenched, the way her small shoulders barely rose with each breath.
"Sometimes, belief isn't enough," she murmured. "What if he comes back… different? Or worse, what if he doesn't come back at all?"
Aya turned then, her gaze piercing. It was a look that sent a chill through Colla—not because it was angry, but because it was certain.
"You think I don't know that?" Aya's voice was steady, but there was something brittle beneath it, something sharp enough to cut. "He'll come back."
Colla raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I get it. You're loyal to him." She let her head fall back against the tree again. "But if I were you, I'd think about what this is doing to you. You're so young, Aya. If it's hurting you this much, maybe—"
"Have you ever loved someone, Colla?" Aya interrupted, her voice soft but edged with steel.
Colla blinked, caught off guard.
She hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "Not like that. But I had a sister. She was my everything. Stronger than I'll ever be. She entered the battle once, too. I thought she'd survive. I believed she would. But she didn't."
Silence stretched between them.
Aya turned back toward the road. "Then you should understand." Her voice was quieter now, as if speaking to herself. "Letting go isn't a choice. It's a wound that never really heals."
Colla swallowed. "...Maybe so," she admitted. "But sometimes, holding on can be just as painful."
Aya said nothing.
Instead, she lay back on the grass, staring up at the sky, her fingers still wrapped around that torn scrap of fabric.
Colla sighed, raking a hand through her hair. "You can come with me—"
A shadow fell across them.
"You're awfully chatty for someone I hired to keep an eye on her."
Colla's entire body went rigid.
The voice was deep, calm—terrifyingly familiar.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Nine stood before them.
He was changed.
His clothes were tattered, frayed at the edges and stiff with dried blood. His body, lean to begin with, looked even sharper now—his muscles carved tight, his movements fluid like a blade drawn from its sheath. Scars marred his skin, some fresh, some old, but they were nothing compared to the look in his eyes.
They were darker than before. Sharper. Unreadable.
He had always been dangerous. But now… now there was something wrong behind that grin.
Yet somehow, he was smiling.
"Aya," he murmured.
Aya shot to her feet so fast that Colla barely saw her move.
"Nine!"
She ran to him without hesitation, throwing herself into his arms.
He caught her easily, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, his hands strong, steady. For a moment, he spun her, a soft laugh escaping as she buried her face against his shoulder.
Aya clung to him, her breath shuddering with relief, her small fingers fisting into his tattered robes.
Colla watched, feeling something twist uncomfortably in her chest.
To Aya, Nine was home. Safety. The only thing in this world that mattered.
But Colla saw more than Aya did.
She saw the hunger flickering beneath Nine's warmth—the way his grin lingered a second too long, the way his fingers flexed as if resisting the urge to grip something—someone—too tightly.
This was not just a man returning to someone he cared for.
This was a man starving for something deeper than food.
When Nine finally set Aya down, he turned to Colla.
She straightened instinctively, every muscle in her body on edge.
"I told you to keep her safe," he said, his voice smooth but lined with something colder. "Not fill her head with ideas."
Colla opened her mouth to protest, but the words died under his gaze.
Without another word, Nine tossed a small pouch of coins at her feet. "Your pay."
Colla hesitated, then bent down and picked it up. The weight of the gold felt heavier than it should have.
"Thanks," she muttered.
Nine's attention was already back on Aya. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek.
"You've gotten thinner," he murmured.
Aya leaned into his touch. "I haven't been eating much."
Nine crouched, adjusting her shoes with practiced ease. "Then let's fix that. What do you want to eat?"
"Pork ribs," she said instantly.
Nine chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Of course, you want meat."
"Is that a problem?" Aya frowned.
"No, no," Nine said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. "You can have all the meat you want, my little carnivore."
Colla followed them back to the tavern, her steps heavy.
She watched the way Nine doted on Aya, the way she clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping her afloat.
To Aya, he was everything.
But to Colla, he was a storm waiting to happen.
Later that night, after dinner, Nine tucked Aya into bed. She curled against him, fingers wrapped tightly in his robes.
His hand stroked through her hair in slow, comforting motions.
Colla hesitated in the doorway.
"Can I ask something?" she said finally. "If you don't want to answer, just say so."
Nine glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. "Ask."
"Aya's afraid," Colla said carefully. "Afraid you'll change."
Nine's lips curled into a grin. "I haven't changed."
Colla's stomach twisted. "You mean she hasn't seen you change, don't you?"
Nine tilted his head, that grin widening into something unsettling.
"She won't leave me," he murmured. "She can't."
Colla's throat went dry.
"And if she can?" she whispered.
Nine's dark eyes burned into hers.
"If she can," he echoed.
The weight of those three words sent a cold shiver down her spine.